Mockingbird
by Amvonz
Summary: There is a songbird in a cage by the corner, the same one she'd fantasized she would one day have to wake her up every morning. He'd sneered and called it dirty but Petra insisted that waking to the song of a bird was good for the soul. Levi wonders if being born to the song of a bird is even better for the soul. (Prompt: Petra gives birth)


It's different each time.

In some, her body turns pallid and shakes with deadly force, blood draining from her lips as she screams out. She reaches for him, hopeless hands trying to latch onto anything, blood and viscera soaking the sheets. Tears leave her face shining and Levi can do nothing. He can press down on her swollen belly and hold her face in his hands or let her bite into his arm until his skin is bloodied and raw, but the screams won't stop.

In others - the ones that leave him choking on bile - she's rolled in on a stretcher, barely conscious and bleeding so much she leaves a wet trail on the tile. She's in her uniform and showing, her belly taut and round like a melon. It's pure nonsense. It still frightens him.

He guesses this is the result of his paranoia, of all his fears and hesitations building up into one nightmarish scene after another.

Levi can never recall anyone else's face except Petra's. Petra as her eyes roll into the back of her head and her mouth goes slack and someone shouts out as the doctors spread her legs open, make a desperate grab for life.

The worst is the slow one. The one that goes by in real time, so lazy and never ending that it feels like he's really living it.

In this one, he awakens in his quarters alone.

The air is cold, and he takes a bath in equally chilly water. He combs his hair, brushes his teeth and wonders if today will be the day. He dresses, considers how many days left until he must do the laundry, and pulls on his shoes. The leather is worn soft to the touch but kept in impeccable condition.

He reminds himself that there is an expedition within a week, and glances at his writing desk, remembers that he needs to respond to some letters before then.

Levi leaves his room as the sun begins its climb and walks down to the dining hall, but is stopped by a younger soldier. He can never remember his face, but the boy tells him that it's time and there's no waiting, he's off to the stables right away.

When he gets to her house - their house, an hour inland - the home is full with family members he knows he's never seen. All pale skin and green and gold eyes, instantly recognizable but still unfamiliar to him.

He can hear Petra's cries from the foyer, and he ignores his unexpected guests and walks with purpose to the bedroom.

The room is bustling with a team dedicated to the sole purpose of delivering this child, and the momentousness of the event does not escape Levi.

Somewhere, deep inside the logic of his mind, buried under the rush in his heart, Levi finds it strange that this room is so easily recognizable as his home. But of course it is.

There is his writing desk, there is his abandoned ash tray, there are his spare boots by the door and his black jacket hanging off the back of a chair. There are his books, stacked and untouched on the bedside table.

And there's Petra.

Her hair is slick with sweat, plastered to her forehead, and she's rosy with the strain but she somehow manages a smile when she sees him. Petra is strong, she always has been, and she gathers the energy to call out to him and draw him to her side with just her breathless voice.

He floats over to her, sits beside her in the wooden chair, and the little staff shifts around their new obstacle without a word.

The windows are pulled open, fresh air running through the room, sunlight lighting the yellow and blue walls. There is a songbird in a cage by the corner, the same one she'd fantasized she would one day have to wake her up every morning. He'd sneered and called it dirty but she insisted that waking to the song of a bird was good for the soul.

The bird is chirping frantically now, it's intricate call punctuating each of Petra's whines. Levi wonders if being born to the song of a bird is even better for the soul.

She cries out again, fingers digging into the mattress as her eyes squeeze shut, midwives scurrying around the bedroom with pails of water and fresh towels.

He holds her hand and her flesh is callused, just as he remembers it to be, tough skin formed in the exact place she would hold her blade.

He can see the three tiny birthmarks on the back of her wrist, counts them to assure himself that this is all real.

Then from one moment to the next, their solitude is interrupted by a wailing cry and no, this must be a dream, Levi tells himself.

This is more than a dream, because Levi had never dared imagine such a day. But he can smell the sweat on Petra, can hear her breathing steady as she drops her head onto the pillow and smiles. His fingers are sore from being squeezed and the child's cry pierces his ears.

The doctor smiles, doesn't announce anything, he simply washes the child with a wet cloth and Levi watches as red is scrubbed away to reveal pale skin and brown wisps of hair. Chubby arms and a pinched face.

"She's a girl." The doctor says, passing the swaddled baby into Petra's arms, and soon it's just the three of them. The midwives, the doctor, the waiting family outside - they all melt into the light.

Petra is shining, the red in her cheeks finally fading, her forehead shimmering with sweat, dirty hair plastered to her skin.

She's beautiful, haloed by the window's light, the baby pressed against her chest.

Some other men might cry, but he can't even smile. It's breathtaking. He's terrified and joyful, staring in stunned silence as Petra coos and shushes their child, bringing the baby's face to her warm breast. She looks up at him, the invitation clear on her face.

He can't imagine touching the baby, the illusion is too pretty, but Petra grabs his hand anyway. She sees his indecision and decides to break it down herself.

Her hand helps him run his fingers against the soft scalp, directs his thumb to brush against short black lashes. He runs a fingertip over the dip of his daughter's nose, and the baby twitches in response.

Petra sighs and Levi doesn't realize she's let go of his hand, and he's tracing his fingers across a pink, chubby cheek without any guidance.

"She's beautiful."

"Of course she is." he murmurs, and Petra brings a hand up to his face, caresses the sharp angle of his cheekbone.

"I still want to fight."

And now this is too real, too accurate, and it stabs Levi in the gut. It's a knife twisting in his stomach as he tries not to argue with her. He drops the subject before the discussion can begin, and he reminds her that he won't be home at the end of the week. Because she_ would_ say that. She would refuse to give up on the Legion.

It stings when Petra nods anyway just to brush off his words, when she brings his hand to her lips and kisses his knuckles. She's too overjoyed to be upset and they kiss, her warm lips against his, so chaste.

The baby is asleep against her chest.

His eyes burn when he wakes up.

It's morning, the sun is just climbing over the horizon and his room is freezing cold.

He bathes in chilled water, combs his hair, and brushes his teeth. For a second, a deluded and mind breaking second, he wonders if today will be the day.

Then he remembers. Levi, you fucking idiot, he thinks, angry with himself. He uses the rage to push out the hunger, the hollow yearn.

Don't be stupid. She's dead.


End file.
